The Recruit
by xxBookReaderxx
Summary: Stiles was in the woods when he was confronted with a man affected by his brief time with the nagitsune.But then Stiles learns that it was all planed by his fellow enemy Deucalion as a test.What will Stiles do?what is he willing to do to save his friends lives?
1. Chapter 1

The Recruit

"Scott, there's nothing here, I told you that from the start, we're just wasting our time, well . . . my time, considering I'm the actual one here!" Stiles announced into his phone throwing his left arm up in aggravation. He had been in the woods, not far from the Hale house, from 11:00pm. It was now 1:35am.

"Just keep looking; it's got to be there somewhere! And I told you, I would normally be there with you but I can't! My dad's set an alarm up on-"

"On the house yes I know. It's just creepy, okay? I'm officially creped out." Stiles muttered to his best friend Scott McCall.

For two and a half hours, Stiles had been inspecting every last inch of the forest for the Desert Wolfs secret hide out but had had no such luck. Sherriff Stilinski had received a call saying someone had spotted a dusty wolf looking animal running through the trees and then stopping before just magically disappearing into thin air. The caller had said they reported it because he was a 'trained hunter' and that he knew his animals, this dusty wolf creature was apparently nothing he'd ever seen. The Sherriff thought it best to tell the pack In case it meant anything to them and Scott immediately jumped to the conclusion that the Desert Wolf was finally here and that they should all be prepared.

Unfortunately for Stiles, Scott's Dad (who would be staying with him for quite some time) had installed an alarm system to the house because of all the 'weird and unexplained' things that had happened in Beacon Hills. This meant that Scott was unable to enter or leave the house without a signal going through to Agent McCall's phone. This wasn't just a nuisance to Melissa and Scott as that meant Stiles was the one having to go out on creepy night trips to the woods on one of the coldest nights of the year.

"Scott, I really don't think anything's here, okay? I have been looking for two and a half hours! I have successfully memorised the location of every bush and tree in this wood and yet have still to find any secret den or hideout that could possibly suggest that the Desert Wolf was in Beacon Hills. Don't you think that you're jumping to Conclusions a bit? I mean, come on, where's the logic in this? Desert Wolf, the clues in the name. Last time I checked Beacon Hills is not a desert and judging by how freakin' cold it is out here, I'd say it's far from it."

About half way through his rant Stiles had turned and started back towards his Jeep which was parked outside the Hale house. He didn't care what Scott said now. He was cold, tired and worst of all board out of his mind. He was going home.

"Okay okay, but something is defiantly off. For a few days now I've been feeling really on edge, didn't Derek say that the desert wolf will have that sort of effect on werewolves?" Scott's deep voice filled the line, obviously feeling the need to justify his actions.

Sudden movement from behind a tree caught Stiles' eye. In any other circumstance's he would have brushed off this odd flicker of movement but when you are in the woods at half past one in the morning and this odd flicker of movement had been happening for the past hour, you start to think, maybe this isn't just any odd

flicker of movement. Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the sensation of being watched crept up on him. His breath caught as he glanced around for any dark figures that might be lurking in the shadows.

Scott's concerned questions filled the line but Stiles took no notice as he started to circulate on the spot. Straining his eyes to see in the blackness of the morning. Stiles stopped scanning the area when his sight landed on the dark figure he'd been looking for

His voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke. "Scott, I have to call you back"

The sound of a twig snapping behind him filled the frosty air. It was only then that Stiles realised how quiet it was, all the sounds of the night were silent, and how that one simple snap seemed to echo all around the forest lasting longer than it normally would. His heart quickened in speed, clashing against his ribcage. That's when the panic settled in, Clawing at his chest like a wild animal.

"What? Why? And why are you whispering?" Scott asked sounding Hollow. "Stiles, what's happening? Is it there, have you found the Desert Wolf?"

"I'm being watched" Stiles Hissed through the mouth piece before he hung up, dropping his phone into his pocket.

_Breathe stiles._ He thought _you were possessed by a nagitsune for Christ's sake; you're alive now aren't you?_ Feeling a little more assured Stiles yelled "Well, come out then." to the figure several meters in front of him. Stiles knew there was more than one, that there was possible three or more people watching him right now, but his attention was drawn to the silhouette slowly moving towards him. "Had fun watching me for the past hour?" Stiles called out, his voice steadier than he would have expected.

"You have very keen senses, Mr. Stilinski." A man's voice drifted through to Stiles' ears. Stiles couldn't help but laugh at this. "Well it's not like you made it hard for me to pick up on your presence." Stiles pointed out. The man stepped closer, now only two meters away.

The panic rose when Stiles felt two pairs of hands grab his upper arm. He looked left at a man with short black hair and stubble with big muscles and then on his right at younger, weaker looking boy with spikey blonde hair, younger than Stiles himself, maybe 15 years of age. Returning his gaze back to the one in front, obviously the leader. They were now standing face to face so Stiles was now able to take in his features. He looked to be about 40, he had curly brown hair and his face looked clean shaven. His noes looked as if it had been broken at one time because of the crook at the bridge. He looked strong, well built.

"So, what can I do for you that I'm guessing I won't like considering the presence of these two lovely men here? Mr…?"Stiles inquired naturally, shoving his hands into his coat pocket. He got no answer to the inquiry on the man's name and what he wanted. He laughed and started to wander about the space in front of Stiles.

"Confident one aren't you? Remind me a bit of myself when I was your age, long time ago now though." The man started. He was shuffling his feet across the floor of the forest, moving aside leaves and twigs as if he were looking for something. "I've been watching you for a number of days now, Mr. Stilinski, you seem to spend an awful lot of time with that friend of yours, Scott, was that his name? The one you were just on the phone with. What was that about the Desert Wolf?"

"That's for me to know and you to forget about!" Stiles warned.

"Stubborn too? Oh well, doesn't matter! That's not what I'm here for." He admitted.

He found what he was supposedly looking for when he bent down and picked something up. It was a large object that filled the man's palm, it looked rather heavy. "My name's Jack Demasi. And you're the murderer who killed my wife."

Before Stiles could add a comment, Jack swung his arm with the object in with great force and beat Stiles over the head. The world around him spun and his vision clouded over before he disappeared into blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Scott McCall was stood, with his arms crossed, wearing a concerned expression, in his untidy bedroom at 02:15 in the morning. His dark brown eyes fixed on his phone, which was lying on his bed. Scott had lost count how many times he'd tried to call Stiles back, but when it went to answer phone for the hundredth time, he decided to wait a few minutes to see if his best friend would call him back saying it was only him being paranoid and that everything was fine.

That call never came.

It didn't take long for Scott to get dressed and get out his bike keys. He was down stairs and at the door within the time space of 1 minute 46 seconds. He was just about to reach for the door knob when he heard light footfalls making their way down the stairs. Mentally cursing, Scott turned round to see his farther stood right behind him in his pyjamas not looking all too pleased about the early morning wake up.

"Scott, what yo' doin'? S'quarter past two 'n mornin'." Agent McCall mumbled, his words slurring together making one jumbled mess, one hand massaging his temples. Scott was never too good at improvisation, Stiles was usually the one to get the pair of them out of this sort of trouble. Scott would always panic and say something completely un-important or come out with the worst excuse that even _he _would admit it was awful. Now was apparently no different.

"I... uhh…was just…going out for a walk…on my own…at 2:15 am…" He tried to add an innocent smile at the end of it to at least look like he meant it, but from the way his dad stared at him, it didn't go down too well.

"With your bike keys? I don't think so." Obviously, he was awake enough now to see strait through the lies Scott was feeding him. He needed Stiles. He could have been away right now if Stiles was there. But then again, if Stiles was there they wouldn't need to go out this early. There was a pause in conversation; Scott was desperately trying to think of anything that could pass as an expectable reason to leave at the early hours of the morning, but was thankfully saved by Melissa when she called from halfway down the stairs, "What's going on? Where are you going, Scott?" He didn't need to say anything; all he had to do was give her the look. The look that said 'I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't completely and utterly important, like life and death important, please let me go'. And yes, it had got to a point, where that was an actual look.

Understanding spread across her face, "Go...Now!" She ordered when Scott hesitated to move. He yanked open the door and with one thankful nod to his mother, tore away from the house, slamming the door on his way.

Scott climbed onto his bike, smacked on his helmet, and slid the key into the hole, twisting it. The engine stuttered to life as his pressed the gas and exhilarated out onto the road. He considered going straight to Stiles' house and telling his dad but he wasn't sure that anything had happened yet, and didn't want to worry the sheriff. Scott found himself quickly gaining speed desperate to get to his location. As he got nearer to the woods, Scott began to pick up Stiles' sent which normally would have been a good sign if it wasn't for the smell that came with it. Scott was becoming used to the stench and was never too surprised when it travelled into his sinuses. But there was no denying the dread he felt when he realised that Stiles' sent was mixed with that of blood.

Scott could now see the first layer of trees in front of him and it only took a matter seconds for him to reach it. He pulled over at the entrance to the forest, tugging the key out and flicking the stand down so the bike now stood independently. He tore off his helmet and dropped it on the ground not bothering to be careful. Scott took off at a dead run, following the sent he'd caught, it getting stronger with each leap he took deeper and deeper into the wood.

After continuous running for a few more minutes Scott came across Stiles' jeep. It was vacant of any living creature. Scott wasted no time in pondering his decisions; he just continued his hunt, trusting his supernatural senses to lead him to Stiles, or whatever it was that was going to greet him once he'd reached his destination.

The running seemed to go on for an age, but finally, when the sent was at its peak, Scott reached a clearing and got to work on assessing the situation. His eyes went straight to a rock on the floor that was coated in blood. _Could this get__** any**__ worse? _He thought. Scott wracked his memory for what Derek had told him about being able to sense emotions, but all Scott could sense was anger. He could tell the anger wasn't from Stiles though. Nope. The anger was _directed_ at Stiles.

Fear for his friend developed in his gut and a shiver ran down his spine. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. Stiles did not leave this forest willingly and he probably wasn't conscious either judging by the evidence here.

Not wanting to stay any longer, Scott returned back to his bike faster (if possible) than before, repeating the process of starting it up and stepping on the gas. He knew exactly where he was going and didn't want to waste any more time, if Stiles was actually missing, he needed help. And he needed it fast.

Scott arrived at the Stilinski house hold, not bothering to put his bike on the stand he just turned the engine off and ran to the door, banging on it several times before a very irritated Sheriff answered.

"…Is this, like, part of the whole supernatural world thing. Having to get up at 2:30 in the morning?" The agitated man asked. Indicating for Scott to enter. Scott complied and stood, solemnly, by the stair case. "So what's oh so important that it can't wait until the morning?" Scott didn't say anything for a second before it all came out in one mess, a hardly understandable mess. And it didn't help that Scott kept saying over and over again 'it's all my fault. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault'. The poor Sheriff looked bewildered by the sudden outburst and it took a few seconds for him to take control over the babbling teenage boy.

"Wow, Scott slow down . . . I didn't hear a word of that. Take a deep breath and try again." The elder of the two advised walking Scott over to the sofa where the two sat down. The teenager nodded, his chest rising and then falling.

"It's Stiles. He's missing."

Why was it that Stiles was always the one to get into these sorts of scrapes? Maybe everyone just saw him as the weakest link, the human, the one without power. Well Stiles could easily assure anyone and every one that had a single doubt; he could defend himself just fine. They just always caught him at his venerable moments. Like when Peter was on his rampage and he attacked Lydia on the lacrosse field, Stiles could either have watched him tear Lydia to pieces or he could have gone with him and saved a great deal of trouble . Anyone with a human heart would have gone with the later.

He had awoken a few moments earlier accompanied with a throbbing headache and greeted with the sight of a small basement. Stiles was relieved to feel the freedom to move when he tried to stand but the nausea took over and he had to sit back down. He used the back wall to prop himself up and tried to think back to what happened before he lost consciousness.

He didn't remember much to start with but the more he thought about it the more that came back to him. Stiles could remember being in the woods, looking for the desert wolf. What then? Then . . . he was calling Scott because he couldn't find anything but he hung up because . . . he was being watched.

A chill ran down his spine when he remembered the men. The two that held him still and then the man that was talking, the leader Stiles presumed. What did he say?

That's when the memory came crashing back to him all at once.

The man, the one who said he was called Jack Demasi, the one who hit Stiles, he said something that puzzled Stiles to the next century. _'And you're the murderer who killed my _wife_.' _Stilesreplayed the words over and over in his headeach time trying to make sense of them, but ended up just frustrating himself.

Deciding to take his mind of it he took a better look at his surroundings. From what he could tell he was in a small basement that didn't contain much other than a staircase in the corner and a wooden pole in the centre of the room. The floor, walls and staircase were a rough stone. There was a wooden door at the top of the staircase but all bets were on that it was locked. The room had a definite smell about it. It was a damp and dusty smell, one you sort of expected from a coat cupboard. Just breathing the air in tickled the back of Stiles' throat causing him to cough and splutter.

Stile's dipped his hand into his pocket, checking for his phone. No luck. He'd expected this but still tried in case these men weren't so experienced.

Head still pounding, Stiles attempted to stand, fighting the sick feeling that took residence in his stomach. After giving his arms and legs a well needed stretch, Stiles hastily climbed the steps leading to the wooden door. He tried the handle. Locked. Even though Stiles knew that this would be the result he couldn't push away the disappointment he felt. Quickly getting over this emotion, Stiles started to think of other ways to escape this nightmare.

The next thing Stiles attempted was barging into the door with his shoulder. This was an incredibly bad idea as not only did it not work but he the pain that was now shooting through his arm was just adding to the list of body parts that hurt. "Hello?" This was the next best thing. But once again Stiles found that this attempt was futile.

Returning to his spot on the floor, Stiles started his next try for answers. Waiting.

And he did. He waited for what seemed like hours. But Stiles knew better to trust his own judgment of time at the moment. What was 20 minutes could seem like 2 hours to him at this point. But this time it paid off. He started to hear voices trail under the door. He could only just make it out.

"I just want answers" One voice said. Stiles recognised it as Jack Demasi's deep growling tone.

"And you will get them. They won't find out he's here" Stiles froze when he realised he also recognised that voice. The British accent is one he couldn't forget. His thoughts were interrupted when he here the rustle of keys sliding into the lock and turning. The door swung forward letting light into the basement.

Two men stood in the way of the exit and to his disappointment, Stiles recognised both of them. There was Jack Demasi, of course, but then there was the other. The very man Stiles had suspected was the one talking to Jack. He was right. You know, it really sucked being right sometimes.

He was back. Deucalion was back.

"Good to see you again Stiles"

**Authors Note**

**Sorry the chapters are so short! **** I tried to make this one a bit longer. It will take a few more days to get the chapters up because of school and that so sorry for the delay. I'll get the next one up as soon as possible. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – The Recruit**

He'd never thought it possible for his whole world to fall apart within four simple words. But here he was. Here John Stilinski was. Mouth hanging agape with shock. His breath caught. His heart jumping with and increasing rate. John's brain was working twice its normal pace trying to work around the news Scott had just broken to him. He started stumbling over what's and how's of the scenario, not being able to form a complete sentence that made sense.

Scott buried his head into his sweating hands, knowing exactly what the sheriff was trying to get across. "He was out in the woods looking for the desert wolf. When you said someone called about that animal they saw in the forest, I thought that that was what it was. The desert wolf.

"But Stiles called me earlier, about an hour ago, saying that he couldn't find anything but he said he'd kept hearing things, like breathing or movement. . . Then that he was being watched." Scott paused to take a breath and think about his next few words. But John obviously took it as the end of his explanation as he started to deny that that meant anything.

"He could be asleep somewhere. He could just be feeling paranoid, you know? That doesn't mean he's missing." The distressed man stumbled over the different possibilities of where his son was, repeatedly shaking his head in denial. He'd already been through this experience a number of times and it was not one he wanted to dive back into.

"No, Sheriff, you don't understand. I thought that too, that he was being paranoid, so I waited for him to call me back and when he didn't I went to the woods. I went there. His jeep was empty. And there was . . . blood. And I know what you're thinking that might not be his, that I'm just jumping to conclusions, like I always do, but I could sense anger or rage even. And it wasn't _from _Stiles. It was aimed _at_ Stiles.

"Sheriff, I know something's wrong. I know I'm not just worrying too much. There's evidence there. Solid evidence. And-"

"Okay, fine, alright." John closed his eyes and massaged his temples. _This can't be happening again. Not again_. He filled his lungs before asking "Can you tell if this was . . . like, supernatural?" he looked up at Scott who lightly shook his head, playing with his figures. There was silence between the two that was only occupied with their shaky breaths. "Okay." He dropped his hands and for the first time in the last few minutes, he looked Scott in the eyes. "I'll go to the station, you go to the forest and wait for me, I won't be far behind." He stood up and walked to the door opening it for Scott who had followed him off the sofa.

"We'll find him." Scott said with conviction adding small nod to go with it. The sheriff returned the gesture with a sad smile before Scott turned on the balls of his feet and headed down the drive towards his bike, hopping on and driving off.

Leaving the door wide open, John rushed upstairs and changed into his uniform. Then, bounding down the stairs and picking his coat up off the hanger, he left the house, sliding his coat on. He dug in his pockets for the keys to his car hoping to god that this was all just one huge misunderstanding. He stepped into his car and set off strait to the station.

Half an hour later, two police cars were parked on the damp soil that layered the ground of the forest floor, yellow tape sectioned off the area of the woods that Stiles had thought to have been. The rock coated in thick, crimson blood lay in amongst the fallen leaves and twigs, almost hidden. An officer was knelt next to footprints imprinted in the mud, taking notes in a small book. The tracks showed that there were four people in total . . . but one pair made a trail, as if the person's heels had dug into the ground whilst being dragged away.

John tried not to think about any of this too much as it would probably end up in him breaking down, and he had to stay strong, especially in front of all his colleagues. He was the Sheriff after all. One of the reasons he was elected the job was that through tough times, he always stayed positive and had a clear head. This was one of the toughest.

Scott had been questioned on the phone call he'd had with Stiles which was incredibly drawn out, John had insisted that Scott go home now that he'd given his statement, that he get some rest, but the teen adamantly refused. He continuously stated that he was going to help in any way possible, but the Sheriff wasn't sure there was much he could actually do giving the lack of information at the scene. The wasn't a lot anyone could do right now.

"Sheriff!" The officer that had been examining the tracks yelled some way into the trees. "Tire tracks! And they lead onto the road out of Beacon Hills"

Johns head perked up at this new discovery, his heart sinking, looking over to Scott who looked just as disheartened as he guessed he looked like. The pair of them jogged over to the glum looking officer, John shaking his head as they slowed "Please don't tell me the other tracks stop here too. Please." He pleaded, closing his eyes not wanting to look to the floor.

"I'm so sorry" The officers voice rung out, sincerity lacing his tone.

He didn't need to hear anymore. Sheriff or not he couldn't hold back the tears any longer. John turned his back as the first drop slid down his cheek and his heart crumbled into a million pieces. Stiles was all he had left. Losing him would be the end of his world. It took so much strength to pull through after Claudia passed, he wouldn't be able to do it again.

The tears came faster and faster and before long he was kneeling on the ground begging no one in particular to bring Stiles back to him.

_What? _"_What_?" _What?_ Even though Stiles had guessed that it was Deucalion's voice he heard, Stiles still couldn't come to grasps with him being a part of all this. "What the hell are you doing back in Beacon Hills? Didn't Scott and Derek tell you to get your ass out of this town, or more importantly, our lives?" Stiles asked now standing up. The wolf grunted. "I'm helping a friend" he motioned to Jack, fake sincerity dripping from his tone "you see, he wants answers and I was willing to help him get them. And I wouldn't be so sure you're still in beacon hills Stiles, you were out for a while." The door slammed shut, enveloping the group in darkness.

There was a shuffle of movement and before Stiles could prepare for whatever was coming his way a fist connected with his jaw, the momentum knocking him to the ground. The pain quickly and thankfully, subsided to a dull ache. He got the feeling that the hit wasn't supposed to hurt him as much as it did shock him. Well, Stiles could definitely say it worked. The lights flickered on, the brightness blinding Stiles' eyes. He brought a hand up to shield it away and only brought it down when his eyes had adjusted.

Stiles propped himself up on his elbows raising his eyes to his attacker. "What the hell, dude? That was an unprovoked attack!" Stiles complained, but jack only laughed. The sound was menacing, penetrating the teens ear drums.

"Unprovoked attack? You think _that_ was an unprovoked attack?" He'd stopped laughing, his expression filled with rage. Fear danced in Stile's stomach and he backed away until he felt the cold, stone wall pressing against his back. His eyes flicked to where Deucalion stood at the top of the stair case a smirk plastered on his face. A huge disliking for the man grew in his gut. Jack followed Stiles forward, venom concealing his voice when he talked.

"I'll tell you what an _unprovoked _attack is. An unprovoked attack was when my _wife_ was _murdered_ at the hospital! _That _was an unprovoked attack. And don't I just know _who _caused that attack!" Jack threw an arm behind him towards Deucalion. "Well, my sources say _you_ were. And I have very reliable sources. They say that you smiled. _Smiled _while you ordered those _things_ to kill her. My _wife._" Jack hissed, now face to face with Stiles. Now he understood. Why did it always have to come down to that one point in his life? That one point where he had no control over his actions. The point where the nagitsune took over. And what's worse is that he had one of his many enemies telling random people he was a murderer. It was Deucalion's fault he was in this mess. Stiles may have hated the guy before, but now, now he loathed him.

"Look, I understand that you're upset, I do, but I have no clu-"Stiles was interrupted by the fist diving into his stomach making him heave over and gasp for breath. Now that hurt. Stiles took deep breaths and was surprised when he heard his voice raspy "I didn't kill you're wi-" Another hit. "This is pointless! I don't know wh-" Another hit, this time to his face, the sharp pain shot through his jaw, he winced. "Just stop!" Stiles was relieved when Jack decided to hold up on beating him to a pulp for the moment as silence filled the small basement. It lasted for a while and in that time Jack retreated back to the centre of the room. He no longer looked angry; he just looked like a man who'd lost someone close to him. Heartbroken and grief-stricken.

"I just want to know why" he whispered, his voice calm but forlorn. Stiles closed his eyes and shock his head. What could he say that could possibly pass as at the very least sane?

"If I were you I'd just tell him, it would save an awful lot of trouble" Deucalion suggested reminding Stiles that he was still in the room. Stiles scoffed, shooting a hard glare at the man. "I think you and I both know that he wouldn't believe me even if I did." He sighed looking at his feet. He could feel a bruise where Jack had hit him on the face already forming, the skin tender.

"So you admit to it do you? You admit to being a murder?" Jack scowled, taking another step back as if he were fighting with himself to not rip the teen in front of him limb from limb. Hatred dazzled in his bloodshot eyes matching the hideous frown pulling at his lips. He looked incredibly sleep deprived, the blag bags making pools under his eyes. Jacks clothes needed a good wash. Sauce staining his greyish shirt. His trousers were worn at the knee and the jacket was ripped at points.

"No! I wasn't there! I'm not a murder!" Stiles shrieked, balling his hands into fists the anger welling up inside of him. What did it take to get this guy to believe him? Slowly he rose to his feet, trying desperately to steady his breathing. "I'm not a murderer" He repeated.

"So what, you just happen to know everything that went on in that hospital? I want the _truth_. And if you don't start telling it then things are gonna start getting violent" The elder man threatened and something about the viciousness of how he growled made Stiles pretty sure he wasn't bluffing. Stiles wasn't sure what to do, tell him, not tell him. Lie, don't lie. He went with neither. There was a pause before Stiles hastily voiced "you lost someone and I get that! I do. And I know that right now you're running on grief and adrenaline. But what happens when that runs out? . . . When reality kicks in. When you start to _think_ again. My mother died when I was 10. I did some pretty stupid stuff. Of course, I didn't go round town accusing all the doctors of killing her, but I did stupid things. But none of what I did made anything better. What you're doing now, won't make anything better." Nobody moved. Nobody said a word. A few seconds passed. And then a few more.

"That was the biggest load of crap I've ever heard!" Jack spat. He raised his hand and pointing a finger at Stiles. "You've just made everything worse for yourself. This could have been easy." He turned on the spot and climbed the stairs. Deucalion left flicking the lights off as he went. Jack stood in the door way, still pointing his finger. "You'd better be prepared for what's coming your way. Because by the time I'm through with you, you're gonna wish you were with that dead mother of yours" He slammed the door shut, drowning Stiles in darkness once more.

**Authors Note:**

**Hope this cleared up some of the confusion. If not please tell me and I will try to clear it up further. Will update as soon as possible. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4- The Recruit**

The Sheriff sat at his coffee stained desk, up to his eyes in paper work that was due two days ago. He was seemingly indulged in the work, but an underage drinking teenager was the last thing that was running through his stressed brain. He couldn't concentrate when his only child was alone and in probable danger. He had already sworn down that whoever it was that had the nerve to take his son away from him would pay a hell of a price.

There was a tap at his office door and his head jerked up to see Parrish's head pop through the gap. For a fleeting moment John aloud his hopes to rise as he wished for the deputy to present good news but as he saw the troubled look plastered on his face . . .

He dropped his pen on the table and let out a frustrated sigh, making the papers scatter across the table top. Dropping his head and waved for Parrish to enter, John pushed down the emotional flood rising within.

Parrish, his actions jittery, sat down in the plastic chair in front of the Sheriffs desk. He suddenly became very fascinated by his hands, twiddling his thumbs. He sat like this for a few minutes tension filling the small room. John eventually got bored of waiting "Parrish, you came in here for a reason, spit whatever it is that's getting you all on edge out. . . I have to know." John brushed his face with his dry hands before clasping them, elbows resting on the desk, in front of him.

Parrish nodded. "The test results came back on the blood we found. They apologised for how long it took . . . And for the results. They can confirm it was Stiles'. They say with the amount of blood loss, he wouldn't have been conscious and would have been out for at least 4 to 5 hours. Stiles' phone has been disabled so tracking won't be possible.

"We also had the test results back on the tire tracks. They were unsuccessful, but we can assume that it's big, most likely a van, due to how deep the tracks go into the mud." He paused, taking a deep breath, not just for him but to give the Sheriff a chance to log the information. John gave the gesture for Parrish to carry on. "Given the time from when we were alerted, to now . . ." The deputy trailed off closing his eyes. John didn't push the man as he knew where this was going. He tried not to let the heart break show on his weary expression.

"He could be anywhere in the US by now. And it passed the 48 hour mark, yesterday. Sheriff, I'm so sorry." Parrish finished, finally looking up into his boss' eyes. Anyone could tell the man was trying to conceal the pain that was evident in his body language.

The 48 hour mark was when most investigations just assumed the worst; they didn't stop looking altogether, just not as thorough. The chances of finding someone alive and well after 48 hours were critically low. Parrish had expected the man to shout, cry, do something. But the man just sat there nodding his head and looking out into thin air. "I needed to know. Thank you Deputy, you can show yourself out." He waved his hand towards the door. But Parrish stayed put. He knew John. Knew he wasn't going to give up looking for his son. Not a chance. And neither would he.

"Look, Sheriff, I would tell you to go home, to sleep. But I know that if you actually do go home that you sure as hell won't be sleeping. I know you'll probably start an investigation of your own. So . . ." he leaned across the desk and gathered up the stack of paper work. "I'll do this, you go home and you concentrate on finding your son. Because if I know one person who don't give in or lose hope easily, it's Stiles. Regardless of 48 hours." He stood up, pride bubbling in his stomach, and left the room leaving John smiling, despite the mass of bad news, for the first time in the longest two days of his life.

John never realised how useful mystery boards were. Stiles had always told him that if he wanted a good perspective of the case he was trying to solve, he needed a mystery board. The replies were always along the lines of "waste of space" or "time consuming". If he had only listened, he probably could have solved twice as many cases.

John was in the living room, gnawing at his nails, focused on what was in front of him. He had watched Stiles set it up once so he knew perfectly well what goes where. Not that it really mattered; it was just easier to understand once it was laid out properly, so his son had told him.

There were pictures of the crime scene, pictures of the test results on Stiles' blood, and a picture of a smiling, handsome young teen. John had searched through Stiles' room for the red string he'd seen him use once, and it was now strung from the board, connecting the pictures and bits of information together.

He rang Lydia a couple hours ago, telling her what had happened. He needed her help on this. Needed support through the investigation. She had agreed to meet John at his house as soon as she could, understanding the urgency of the situation. He would have called Scott to aid him, but he was afraid the teen wouldn't be able to concentrate for too long. Besides, no offence to Scott, but Lydia outsmarted him by a long way.

As if on cue, there was a knock at his door and Lydia rushed in with bags of shopping twisted in her fingers. She looked wind swept, with her matted hair falling behind her shoulders. "I stopped by the shop on the way, I thought we might need some supplies." she smiled a sad smile and made her way to the kitchen and emptied the bags. John was slightly curious on how she knew her way so fluently around his house but he ignored the question and helped unpack. It was mostly just ice cream and coffee. "I didn't know what flavours you like so I just got them all" she babbled, taking a spoon and the toffee ice cream to the board. "So, what do we know?" she asked, eyes focused on the maze of string and pictures, whilst she scooped ice cream into her mouth.

John filled her in on all the details, pointing a couple of times to the board to present his story. Lydia listened patiently, waiting for the Sheriff to finish before she spoke, placing the ice cream on the floor. "Okay, well, when you told me there's not a lot to go on, you weren't lying. But that doesn't matter because there's a couple things we can try that you haven't done.

"So, these people that took him, they would have to have known where he was going to be, right? So that means they would have been following him for a few days, perhaps listening into his conversations to plan the right moment to make a move. Now I know you said he hadn't told you about a stalker or anything but that only means that he was either not telling you because he's an idiot or he didn't notice. Who was he with, say, two days before he went missing?" Lydia questioned determination ringing in her tone. But there was something else there too, behind the all the confidence, there was a trace of guilt and John knew why. He knew Lydia was supposed to have been with Stiles at the time but she was with her mother at the lake house for a birthday party. She told him over the phone mixed in with sorry's. He didn't blame her, but he knew she would have convinced herself it was her fault. Torturing herself with the "what if's" and "oh, if only's"

"Lydia, I don't see how this is going to help." John collapsed into the sofa behind him with a huff. His attitude obviously surprising the red head. An image of Stiles scowling at him for calling her red head when 'She's strawberry blonde' popped into his mind and he almost smiled. Almost. The small glimpse of emotion faded when he looked back to Lydia who did not look all to impressed.

"Sheriff, you need to start thinking! It's so simple! A three year old would understand." Lydia remarked, plopping down beside him. She was a little disappointed at how unhelpful he was. She knew it was probably just a faze he was going through, but still, she had higher hopes. "If someone spotted something and got a good description, then we can get a description artist to draw a picture and we can run it through the data base. We can ask whoever it was that saw them if it's the right guy and then-"

"Lydia. Lydia, just listen for a sec. We've already tried that. Sorry, but we've already tried that!" John interjected his hope for the girl slightly lessening. But she didn't look disappointed. Not at all. If anything, she looked like she was expecting it.

"Okay." she said simply.

"Okay?"

"Okay." Her face was expressionless as she talked "Remember how I said I had a couple of ideas. That was only one of them. But I warn you now, this idea, it's a long shot and most probably against the law."

"What is it?"

"You didn't find his phone at the scene, right?" She asked, ignoring John's question. Lydia wasn't sure about this herself, but they were running out of options. And Stiles was running out of time.

"Right" John had no clue where she was going with this. The warning about breaking the law hadn't fazed him one bit because when it came down to his son's safety, he would do whatever it takes to get his home and in his arms again.

"And he had been on the Phone to Scott beforehand right?" She questioned again, crossing her legs.

"Lydia, get to the-"

"Right?" It was her turn to cut him off this time and she felt no guilt in doing so. She would do this in her own time! "Yeah. Right" He confirmed, feeling slightly like he was being integrated. She nodded at this, he face scrunched up in thought. She looked up and met the sheriff's gaze.

"What if I told you there was a way to track his phone. Even when it's off."

Stiles had a plan. It wasn't a particularly unique plan. But it was a plan none the less. He had waited, what he guessed was three days for this moment; working out a schedule of how often Jack comes down, if he's alone or with Deucalion. When he brings food or when he just comes down to . . . talk.

He had been fed twice, (there was no food on the first day) along with half a bottle of water. He used the food as an indication of how much time had passed giving him the theory that he'd been locked up for 72 hours, or there about. He was given a piece of stale bread each time, not nearly enough to keep his energy up, but enough to keep him alive.

But when Jack walks through that door without food or water in his hands, Stiles' stomach plummets. In total, Jack enters the basement five times a day. In four of the visits, Jack asks that one question. The one impossible question.

Why did he do it?

Of course there's no way of explaining this to him that wouldn't make Stiles' sound like he's completely insane. And so what does Jack do? He hits him. Over and over again. Raining punch after punch on his agile body. Stiles had little energy to fight back and so he withheld what he had to save it for the right moment. This moment.

The physical state of his body was atrocious. Every muscle in his body ached and his face was swollen. He could feel a lump in the corner of his forehead where he had been hit and knocked out with the stone. It was crusty which he presumed was dried blood. He tried to picture what he would look like in his mind. Blood covered, pale, bruised. He didn't like what he imagined.

It probably didn't help that he kept making witty comments to his captor, but he just couldn't help it. Being alone in a room with no one to talk to for hours upon end did that to him. Or maybe it's just who he was. It could have also had something to do with the fact that he hadn't taken his Adderall for a while either.

But the worst thing. The thing that topped it all. Overpowered the pain. Beat the hunger.

Boredom.

Stiles would do anything at that moment in time to relieve himself of the feeling. His own thoughts almost pushing him over the edge of insanity. His mind kept wondering into a blank open space with nothing to pull it back. The only thing that gave Stiles a slight jolt of excitement was the thought of his escape plan.

At that moment in time, Stiles was crouched on the banister at the top of the stair case, ready to pounce the next time Jack walked through the door. Which, by his schedule would be any minute now. It would be the last visit of the day. Stiles had decided to put his plan in to action at this particular time because this was when Jack would be at his weakest stages, having spent most of his energy throughout day. He hoped.

The only time Deucalion had ventured down into the room was on the first day, which gave Stiles confidence in that he won't meet any trouble if he manages to escape the basement.

The distant sound of an opening door travelled to Stiles ears. Then, slow, heavy footsteps getting louder with each pace.

Stiles could feel his once steady heart rate rapidly climbing, taking deep, shaky breaths. His hands started to shake and he had to cling onto the door frame to make sure he didn't fall back. That would have been a massive flaw in his plan.

The jangling of keys could now be heard before it developed into clicking and twisting. And then the door popped open and Jack moved in. This was it. It was now or never. Stiles leapt from the banister landing just behind an incredibly confused Jack. The man spun around giving Stiles the opportunity to rip the keys from his hands. Jack swung a bloodied fist towards the teen's already swollen jaw. Narrowly missing the punch, Stiles flung out his leg, sending pain spiralling throughout his adrenaline filled body, and kicked the elder man in the stomach sending him tumbling down the cold, stone steps. Not looking back on his fallen enemy, Stiles raced out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Hurriedly, he fumbled with the keys, sliding one into the lock. It clicked showing that the door now couldn't be opened without the key, and that was when Stiles realised what he'd just accomplished.

He stood there in disbelief. Looking at the door that had kept him prisoner for 3 days. Stiles let out a yelp of joy and fist pumped the air.

"Ha ha! It worked! It actually worked! . . . Yes! Now that's how you escape from a basement!" He laughed, turning around to face the room in front of him. It looked like a garage with all its tools and stationary. He scanned the room looking for the exit.

And there it was, his way out. Stiles proceeded to the opposite corner of the garage, stepping around cardboard boxes and over tool containers, before he arrived, hastily twisting the door knob and peeking through the gap. From what he could see this was a normal house. He couldn't see much at the moment, just the kitchen and the hall way, but they seemed pretty average. He cranked the door open further and took a step out, revealing to his right, behind a work surface, the lounge, but damn if Deucalion wasn't there too.

Luckily, the wolf's back was to Stiles. He gripped the keys tighter in his hands to stop them from making a noise and slowly bent down to take off his shoes, taking steady breaths.

"There's no point in trying, I can hear your heart beat."

"God damn it!" Stiles cursed, mentally kicking himself for being so stupid. Of course he could hear his heart; it was beating faster than he thought possible. Not to mention his outburst in the garage. He felt silly for getting his hopes up, for thinking he could run away from this nightmare, he was dealing with Deucalion. Deucalion, who was the x-alpha of a _pack_ of alphas. He should have known it wasn't going to be easy.

The werewolf stood and turned towards Stiles, who was, surprisingly, not nervous. He stood his ground as the elder man approached. "So! Care to tell me why you went all girl gossip and told Mr. Demasi down there I brutally murdered his wife?" Stiles urged wanting to know what it was that this guy had against him. Deucalion kept coming closer until they were only a meter apart.

"I merely wanted to see how you'd cope. Care to tell me how you got out." He shrugged; not making any attempt to attack as he casually leaned against the work surface. Stiles folded his arms not taking his eyes away from the wolf, trying to hide the curiosity that was caused by Deucalion's answer. He was half surprised he'd answered in the first place.

"Oh you know, one on one battle, I was obviously just too much for him." Stiles smirked. Deucalion didn't look all too impressed with the reply, probably thinking since he was honest, Stiles would be honest. But nope!

"I don't think I asked for sarcasm" He growled, getting agitated.

"And I don't think I asked to be here but we don't always get what we want now do we?" Stiles retorted. He'd really have to learn to shut up some time. To Stiles' joy, Deucalion seemed to accept his comment instead of getting completely mad which was what Jack tended to do. Stiles knew there was no point in not saying, what did it matter how he escaped anyway? He let a sigh burst from his lungs. "I waited by the door so when Jack entered I could easily attack without him even having processed what was going on. A pretty crap plan I know, but it was working until you had to butt in, thanks for that by the way!" He added on the end with a flick of his usual self.

"How did you know I wouldn't be there too? I could have easily taken you out." He said with a smirk of his own, clasping his hand in front of him. Stiles were so tempted to just turn and run. The door was only down that corridor. But Deucalion was much faster, he'd have no chance.

"I'm not stupid; I know how to remember a schedule. The only time you came down into that basement was when you first showed your face. I knew the only reason you'd come down was if something was wrong. This is Jack's battle, not yours. And he was on time. So I knew I could go ahead with the plan. Weather I'd meet you out here was a risk I was willing to take. And now I'm paying the price." He stated, all the fun fading away with that sentence. But Deucalion was smiling, not a happy smile, but a smile that suggested you were right all along. Stiles couldn't help but feel a little crept out.

"Oh I know you're not stupid. In fact, that's one of the reasons you're here." his face grew serious as did Stiles'. "Not because some guy thinks you're a killer. But because you're smarter than your average teen. You want to know why I told him you killed his wife? Why you're in the worst physical state possible? It was a test, Stiles." He announced as he started to circulate around the teen.

Stiles stayed put, feeling more than a little uncomfortable as the conversation went on. He could tell he wasn't going to like where this was going. "A test on what?" he spat, glad to hear no quiver in his tone.

"Two things. Intelligence and your ability to withhold something no matter how tough things got." He stated. Coming to a halt in front of Stiles once more. The way he looked at Stiles, it was as if they were in a museum and he was the artefact. It sent a shiver crawling down his spine at the thought. "And you have proved to me that you, Stiles, are perfect for the job." And Stiles thought things couldn't get any more confusing. What was this guy talking about? But before he could ask he called two names out. Elliot and Viktor.

The two men that had held him at the start of all this mess entered the room, the elder one walking right over to Deucalion whilst the younger stayed in the corner, watching in silence.

"I'll take those" Deucalion snatched the keys right from Stiles' hands. He then turned to the man at his side and said something too quiet for Stiles to hear. The man nodded and moved towards the garage. Once fully out of sight Deucalion called the younger, more teenage looking if anything, over.

"Uhh, I know I have a tendency to do things and then forget, but I'm pretty sure I haven't filled out a job application in the last few weeks." Stiles exclaimed, still not following what was going on here. There was no reply, just a hushed conversation between the pair in front of him.

It didn't take long for Viktor (Stiles had caught a bit of Deucalion's conversation and was able to suss out that this was Viktor and the other Eliot) to come back with Jack being practically dragged behind him. When he looked up, stiles saw fear sparkling in his eyes and he understood why when he saw Viktor in wolf form.

"Well that's one way to break the news that werewolves exist" Stiles muttered. He turned back to Deucalion, "Hey, d'you mind stopping all this 'lets tell him a little bit to make him completely and utterly lost and then not say anything for a while till he completely and utterly loses it' thing? Because it's making me completely and utterly frustrated, that would be great, thanks." Stiles complained. This situation was incredibly stressful and he didn't need it at the moment. But it was as if he were invisible as Deucalion just ignored him nodding to Eliot who advanced towards Jack.

"What are you doing? Stop. What are you doing" Jack demanded as Eliot, too, transformed. But he didn't stop. He took one more step towards the man who was now being held still by Viktor. His face contorted and he drew his arm back revealing his pointed claws. Stiles didn't want to watch this, he turned his head at the last minute to save himself from the nightmares he knew he'd have if he continued to view the scene playing out before him. The sickening sound of his claws tearing through the flesh was bad enough.

He stood there for a few seconds, refusing to turn his head back around. He could hear the shaky breaths of the dying man and then the impossible question was posed again.

"Please . . . just tell me . . . why?" he spoke in between breaths. Stiles did turn his head this time. He was propped against the wall, a deep gash from his shoulder down to his hip was gushing with blood and his face had paled intensely. Jacks eyes that were once filled with craze and anger, were now drowning in defeat, the hurt expression that engulfed his face dug deep in Stiles. After all, the man had lost someone close to him, and grief could make you do some ridiculous things. He wasn't saying he liked the man, but Stiles understood why he did it. And he couldn't deny a man's last dying wish.

"It wasn't me." he swallowed, looking Jack square in the eye, blocking out Deucalion and his men for now. "It was a spirit. Called the nogitsune. It possessed me. And it killed so many innocent people. Including one of my best friends. It wore my face, but it wasn't me." He finished. That was all the explanation needed. And as a few more seconds passed, Jack drew one more sharp intake of air and the life slowly faded from his eyes.

"Well, wasn't that emotional!" Deucalion joked as if nothing just happened. Stiles, still transfixed by the lifeless body just meters in front of him whispered "Why did you do that?" and brought his gaze back to meet Deucalion's. "He was getting in my way." He shrugged. "Now, back to our little conversation we were having earlier. Stiles, you are the newest member of my pack. I have some things to be doing and I need you to work a few things out for me."

He was thankful things were finally clarified, but he didn't like the idea at all. Part of his pack? He couldn't do that. He could never work for the opposite side. The bad side. "And what if I refuse?" He said making it clear he was not going to comply

"Stiles, I really don't want to have to hurt someone but if you carry on like this then we might have to make a quick stop at the station, pay the Sheriff a little visit." He threatened, making his own point clear. The worst part was that Stiles knew he was telling the truth. He understood that if he made one wrong move then it would be his Dad paying the price that time.

"You so much as lay a finger on him, I swear to god!" Stiles shot, Viktor and Eliot back at his side to hold him still if he tried to do anything. His heart was pumping with anger and he could feel his hands shaking. Deucalion once again ignored him as he started grabbing a few things a placing them in a bag that was in the lounge.

"Right then, glad we came to an agreement. I'll meet you in the car." And with that he was being escorted out of the house and towards a black Mercedes. The sudden whisk of air and wind was overwhelming. He didn't realise how nice it was to actually have fresh air circulating through his veins, but it was all taken away from him again as he was shoved into the back seat of the car and the door slammed shut.

He looked out of the window at his surroundings. There were trees and and rivers and birds, their song muffled by the wall of metal between them. He looked at the sky, it was dark, but only just as if night had only recently fallen and there were still some lingering sights of the evening. There was also a grey SUV parked to the left of the Mercedes. He guessed that that was Jacks car. He turned his head towards the house he'd spent three days in. Three, boring, hunger and pain filled days. He was glad to be finally rid of that room. He was glad to be leaving the house. But when he wondered what it was that Deucalion wanted him to do, it brought dread and fear to his gut.

Deucalion stepped into the car and sat next to Stiles, his two men up front. Viktor twisted the key and the engine roared to life. He pressed the gas and the car jolted into movement, leaving behind Stiles' worst memories. But moving towards a bleak future.

This, Stiles thought, was going to be a long ride.


End file.
